"How can you kill something that's already dead?" Mrs. Anderson asked, a perplexed look on her round face.

"Um, well... technically your Aunt Mable's not dead-dead," Newt began. He glanced over to the boss, who gave him an encouraging nod. Newt was learning about customer relations today. As part of his ongoing internship, he was learning about the customer relations aspect of the business. Mrs. Anderson still looked blank. "She's.... um... y'know... a zombie."

"Heavens!" Mrs. Anderson gasped, waving a hand in front of her face. "That would explain a lot. Should have suspected. That's not proper behavior for one's dead relatives, after all - showing up at the door all rotten and expecting a handout."

"Uh, yeah.That's bad behavior. Anyhow, um... since we didn't raise her..."

"Of course you didn't raise her! Her mother and father did. Many years ago. Many many years ago, crusty old bird that she was may she rest in-- well, may she go back to resting. Or at least, stop camping on my lawn." Mrs. Anderson sniffed delicately.

Heck chuckled from where he sat across the room, pointedly Minding His Own Business - or at least, not giving Newt any help unless it looked like he was decidedly about to lose a customer.So far the intern seemed to be making progress - if awkwardly. He kicked back in his chair, watching the tableau unfold.

"Raise - um, you know. Bring her back from the dead. It's not our work. Either she's a spontaneous generation - that happens sometimes - or one of the other necromancers in the area was contracted by someone to bring her back.... in which case we'd be poaching on someone else's territory, which could cause all sorts of problems. There's rules against that sort of thing, so..." Newt said, starting to wax long about the business.

Heck cleared his throat, and gave the boy a stern look. Not discussing the details of The Business with outsiders was part of the Necromancer's Code.

"Erm. Anyhow. There's a possibility we can replant your Aunt Mable..."

"She's not a petunia!"

Newt sighed. Why did Heck have to give him all the difficult customers? This was going to be a long day....

Death? Goodness, darlings - I am not fond of my own mortality. It'd be a temporary condition, certainly - but how very inconvenient! Anyhow, for your edification - here are the ways I am likely to kick it and require some form of reanimation:

1. Resurrection gone wrong - Grarr! It rises from the grave angry and strong and seeking vengeance on my succulent flesh. Could happen.

2. Necromancer burn out - You know how it is. Your spells fizzle, you start forgetting where you left your bones - next thing you know, you're doddering and sitting around in a chair talking about the good old days. If you're not dead from this, you may as well be.

3. Mrs. Peavely - Now before you go saying she's just a harmless old lady, let me remind you that she has a mean right hook and seriously hates me. Yes, she has it in for me and she lives right next door. If I'm pushing up the daisies and you can't reanimate me to ask questions, start looking over her place for clues.

4. Rival necromancer- It's a tough business, and not everyone's by the book. There's some non-union scabs out there that would like nothing more than to bump one of us card carriers off so a new market opens up. You know how it is. They under cut your prices, they upper cut your throat.

5. Zombie uprising - You've met Rhonda, right? My dear little corpseflower - I love her to death, she's a wonderful secretary. Unfortunately, she's also quite active in the undead rights movement which is getting rather violent of late. If there's a zombie uprising, Rho - remember I gave you quite a few raises over the years - including that first one, straight out of the grave. You know you want to spare my life!

Least likely: Spontaneous combustion. Baby, that whole going up in flames thing just does not happen as often as you'd think.

Darlings! Hello, it has been a while but I assure you we have not forgotten about any of you. I trust you have been well and keeping out of trouble and all that. Here are some of the bumper stickers that we around Necrotic Technologies inc are fond of. (Don't tell Rhonda about the last few)....

( Stick to this )

---Heck

Hello my darlings! I trust this missive finds you all well.

This is a selection of beautiful songs i would like to dedicate to my ex, Katrina.




Ex Lover's Lover
Three heavy stones will keep it from floating,
weigh it down to the bottom, food for the fishes.
And I know that it won't be discovered
'cause I will be careful, so very careful.
What if it doesn't rain for days and the river is
reduced to its muddy bed?
With a corpse exposed I would work in haste
and I might bury the bones in a shallow grave.
And the rain comes and moves rocks and the stones
washes away all the dirt and the mud flows
Bones are exposed and well.
you know how that goes!


( More lyrics... )

Dear Katrina,

When you asked me to 'help' you with 'a little problem', could you have possibly explained that this would involve something that nearly lead to my death? It would have been a nice heads up to tell me that you were involved with a cult of demon-worshipers who were seeking to sacrifice the town's children in order to open a gate to hell. You know, these are usually the sort of things one wants to know about before setting out to do a job.

Then again, communication was never a strong point in our relationship.

And no, I am not asking you out again. Ever. I have learned my lesson - twice now.

Please, if you have another problem that requires necromantic assistance - please seek it elsewhere.

No Love,
Heck

PS: Enclosed please find a bill for services rendered

Halloween was the busy season for Heck, which meant he was spending long hours raising the dead in time for everyone's parties. It just wouldn't be a Halloween in Trembleton without zombies and skeletons puttering around everyone's yards, handing out treats and giving the kids a nice safe scare. When he wasn't busy with other people's dead, he worked on getting the Necrotic Technologies building ready for any trick-or-treaters brave enough to walk The Gauntlet.

Every year, Heck set up a path to his front door that was fraught with PG-peril for the little buggers to work their way through. This year he was especially proud of The Gaunlet - all the disembodied hands were creeping and grabbing on time, the skeleton was 'rising up from the grave' at just the right moment, the ghosts were floating ghostily through the garden - it was a well coordinated adventure in synchronized haunting. And near the end of the path, the scariest obstacle of all - Rhonda, the light of the full moon illuminating the DEAD rights buttons she planned on handing out to kids before they reached the door. Halloween seemed the perfect time for her to educate the young folks about undead rights issues.

Newt the Intern was set up near the driveway to make sure kids got started down the path and didn't wander off it. He had a flashlight and a book to read so he didn't get too bored with trick or treaters. He was also on rescue duty should any of the kids get too scared by the walk to the necromancer's door.

Mr. Bones was stationed on the front porch with caramel apples, mugs of cider, and ginger snap cookies (Heck was proud of the cookies- they snapped extra loud this year). He was also to point the kids towards the door, where Charmaine was ready to hand out ghost globes and to usher the children into the candlelit parlor. There Heck sat, dressed in his best top hat and waistcoat, a book of stories in his lap. As each group of children came in, he told them a tale from the book - manipulating the shadows and making ghostly sounds to illustrate the action.

Who are the three people that mean the most in my life? Contrary to some popular beliefs, it's not Heck, Heck and Heck!

1. Charmaine - My dear, sweet, very demanding kid sister. I would do anything for her - and unfortunately, she knows it. Still, she's number one on the list!

2. Rhonda- No, we are not having an affair - but she's the best darn zombie secretary a guy could ask for. Even when she gets on my case about working conditions.

3. Mr. Bones Newt - Okay, I guess Newt-the-intern wins out over Mr. Bones here, if only from the standpoint that he's endearingly amusing when he faints/shrieks/cringes.


Home for Heck is an apartment over the office building. He lives in a converted two-story building, once a large house, now an office below and a decent sized living apartment above. Mr. Bones lives with Heck, his sleeping space being the Skeleton Closet. Heck's bedroom is nearby, a place with piled high pillows, bookshelves with light reading (nothing work related - mostly fiction novels), and a cheerfully chaotic decor. His living room has comfortable overstuffed couches, a beanbag chair, and a decent sized televison. Magazines on the coffee table reflect his outside of work interests - National Geographic, Time, Smithsonian, and Spin. His kitchen has an island where he sits and eats his corn flakes in the morning before work, and his frozen meals when he's done at night.

His bathroom has a fish motiff - picked out by Charmaine, who insisted he needed to coordinate when she helped him redecorate the place. Oddly enough, she never mentioned the lack of coordination the rest of the house seems to suffer - it's all a cheery hodgepodge of stuff salvaged from yard sales, thrift and second hand stores. The place was furnished before business started to take off - and because everything is still serviceable, he hasn't seen a need to replace the furnishings yet.

Heck loves his home and his office, because they're his and his alone. He's the boss, the owner, the head honcho. Despite his lack of formal education, and his growing up in relative modest means, he's making a name for himself.

Home makes Heck proud.

It's not Ghostbusters, baby! Give us a ring, we're in the book.

"Tus abuelos son viejos, Hector," Mama had frequently reminded him in the last years of their natural lives. She impressed upon Heck that they wouldn't be there forever, and that he should visit them as frequently as he possibly could. Heck didn't need much of an invitation - he loved his grandparent's house, with all the pictures of velvet Jesus and the slipcovered furniture that prevented Abuelo's necromantic mishaps from getting all over the good furniture. Heck had inherited the talent from his grandfather - though it had skipped a generation and left his mother and her siblings completely mundane.

Alonzo Varagas had been a formidable necromancer in his time - which, by the time Heck came along, was already long past. Abuelo loved to ramble on about the good old days, before all the undead rights movements and the government regulations. These days a guy could get arrested for raising zombies without a license and permit; back in Abuelo's day they'd considered it a cheap labor solution and a fun weekend pastime. And now of course, if you did raise a zombie - you had to pay it a fair working wage. And if you raised a zombie like Rhonda, you had to pay her a fair working wage with a raise every year!

When Abuelo lay dying of a cancer that shriveled him up like a raisin left too long in the sun, he made Heck promise. "Hector, mi nieto, promise me - do not raise me up. I have lived long enough on this earth, and I am ready to be a part of it once again..."

Still, if Heck could bring anyone back (that he can't already), it would be his Abuelo. He'd want to ask Abuelo only one question - if he was proud.

Now as far as making people go away, Heck would have to choose Trembleton's town busybody, Mrs. Peevely. She was a terrible neighbor - always nosing around to see what Heck and company were up to, and whether or not she could complain about the resultant noise, smell, or mess. Just because a few mindless skeletons had trampled her petunias that one time, and the wight had terrorized (and nearly eaten) her french poodle didn't mean that she had the right to try and get him in trouble for 'questionable practices. It didn't hurt that her husband's brother was the mayor. Yes, Heck wouldn't mind entirely if she got 'lost' somewhere - or at the very least, moved away!

Though Charmaine only stood five foot three inches tall, her will was formidable. Heck couldn't budge her when she got her mind set to something- and set it was that he should go to this 'speed dating' event.

"But, darling dearest sister - I have work to do! The dead won't raise themselves you know. Four new cases require attention this week- and there's still the Henderson matter," he said, trying to escape her iron grip as she propelled him towards the office door.

"Mrs. Henderson has been dead for twenty years," Charmaine said. "She can wait another night."

"But her husband wants her reanimated in time for their fiftieth wedding anniversary," he insisted, scooting sideways so he stuck in the doorframe.

Charmaine was undeterred, and simply kicked him in the posterior until he crossed the threshold. "Get in the hearse, Heck, before you need some reanimation of your own. I mean it. You're going to get out there and find some living companionship. People are starting to talk about you and Rhonda again..."

"Ah, Rhonda - my little corpseflower," Heck said, folding his hands over his heart in dramatic mock-admiration. Rhonda was a great secretary - one of his best reanimations too. Aside from a slight mottling of her skin and the smell of rotting flesh, you couldn't even really tell she was a zombie. Still, he was a necromancer, not a necrophiliac.

Charmaine just sighed and pressed the keys to the hearse into her brother's hand. "Now you go straight to that speed dating event, and don't you come back until you've had at least one conversation with a living being that isn't either a relative or a client. I mean it, Heck."

Defeated, he sighed dramatically, and tipped his top hat to the victor. "Yes ma'am. One conversation with a living being. Understood."

It wouldn't be that hard, would it? Heck got into the hearse (which had advertisement for his company, Necrotic Technologies, on the side) and drove out of Trembleton and towards the city. At least when he drove the CorpseMobile he was advertising to the motorists he passed. Never knew when one of them might turn out to be a future client.

Parking in the city was always a challenge, especially with a vehicle of considerable length. Finally he found a spot, and walked the block and a half towards the cafe where the event was being held. With a resigned sigh, he stepped inside, registered, and settled at a table.

One conversation with a living being - how hard could it be? At least they had coffee- his caffeinated drug of choice. He sipped a cup as he waited for someone to approach.